


Flagitious

by Krylenta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Brotherly Love, Castiel is a Winchester (Supernatural), Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Imprisonment, Michael (Supernatural) is So Done, Michael might be Amara's Son With God, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 17:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21122582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krylenta/pseuds/Krylenta
Summary: Michael knew he was wicked; how could he not when he couldn't even obey the commands his father gave him.A reason for the Apocalypse, other than it was foretold.Edited: 12/12/2020This is the first piece of writing that I've plucked up the courage to post. Your feedback is appreciated, should you chose to give it.





	Flagitious

Michael knows Lucifer, just as he knows Gabriel, Raphael and the rest of the host. He knows him well, better than he knows himself sometimes. Lucifer is his Morning (Mourning) Star, still; now and forever, Aunt Amara naming Lucifer as Father’s (Chuck’s, God’s) first son _hurts_. Michael was there when Lucifer was plucked from the stars, a tiny ball of celestial fluff wrapped in feathers and already so _bright_.

“You are a brother now, Michael. Watch over him.” Father had commanded, and what was he to do but obey? (Father plucked two more and commanded him the same – naming them Raphael and Gabriel.) It does not escape Michael that he has no memories of infanthood (formancy?), that all he knew before Lucifer was Amara and God and endlessness.

It hurts when Fathers starts to build planets, and star systems, forming nurseries to cradle his brothers until they can be collected (where they sleep and sleep until they are). It hurts still more when father takes a liking to a specific planet and began populating it with fish and birds and animals and plants.

“Watch over them, Michael. Love them as I do.” God demands, and he can’t. He just _can’t_. He wants to obey though. Wants to love the Terrathings. It is (never: was) the first sin, Michael knows it and has never shared that truth, that it is lost to time and he let it be so. Lucifer is the one that picks up on Michael’s struggle, sees it written in his feathers, the twisted knots in his self.

“Let me love them for you,” Lucifer had plead, and Michael had collapsed in on himself, relief (the burden is lifted), guilt (I have burdened my brother (my son) with my failing), and anxiety (am I failing him?) swirling tightly compressed at his center.

“Thank you, Lucifer.” It’s the barest of acquiescence, but elation erupts from Lucifer in ribbons and waves of the coolest pinks and hottest blues. (Michael loves him all the more for it.)

Lucifer takes to loving the Terrathings with an ease that Michael has lost. He tries to be there for all of the formlings, but there are thousands to his one self. It was inevitable that they would look to others for guidance, but it makes him feel like his father when he meets the strangers that are his siblings. He is meeting the newest of his siblings when the celestial plane shakes and rents and fills with ethereal tears.

Returning to the corner that Lucifer claimed as his own is a frozen tundra. Should be, but it's not. It’s a shattered surface, laden with burnt feathers and grace. A pair of wings lay ignored, a beautiful and bleeding rising sunset.

“_Why_?” it sounds obscene, as if Michael erupted into expletives instead of tears. “He did as you asked and _loved them!_”

“I asked you.” The words are frosty, but Michael feels scorched as God (because he’s not his father right now) comments, “Perhaps giving you freewill was a mistake.” He leaves with a command rippling from mind to mind, an imposing will of _you will not love Lucifer, nor his fallen kin._

Michael is a frozen statue, God has condemned his brother, and _how can he not love Lucifer? How could his God, his father, ask that of him? _

Raphael collects the plasmatic grace that was left behind while Gabriel grooms the wings as best he can. The collected grace is bundled with the wings as Raphael leaves. Raphael’s departure rankles (Does he not care at all? Did he ever care?) because he has always been better at following orders.

“Lucifer is in Aunt Amara’s proto-cage.” Gabriel murmurs as the parts that Lucifer were forced to leave behind are pressed into him. “Go, do what you need to.” If Michael noticed Gabriel crack, he makes not comment. Just nods.

Michael waits for his father’s eyes to look away, to gaze elsewhere so he can commit his second sin. The pit containing the cage is glacial. Lucifer is furious, snapping clicks interspersed with proto-Enochian as he wails at Michael. Michael has no words to sooth the hurt.

“There is nothing I can do to make it better. Father, God, has commanded that we no longer love you. That we are not allowed, to love you or the rest of the fallen.” The bundle is passed through the bars, which makes it better in a way - but not in the ways that really matter. “I was made to follow orders, Lucifer. The first you were punished for. The second is my shame. Mine and Gabriel’s. I love you. I will always love you, Lucifer.” That Raphael goes unnamed goes unremarked, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Lucifer. Michael is grateful, he doesn’t think he could explain it anyway.

“How wicked of you, Michael.” It sounds like I love you. Lucifer can only watch as Michael keeps moving away, uncontrolled drips of fire escaping from him. Lucifer Knows Michael can’t look back. That if he does, he would never leave. That he would become trapped and neither of them would be free. He would never be free again.

Time solidifies, the sands move to a unchanging whimsy. Lucifer experiences eons to Michael’s millenniums, and he wonders when time became a solid construct. Michael’s fire is steady in Lucifer’s visible range around the cage. He can hear Michael's voice in the fire when the thoughts become coherent. He knows when Raphael isolates himself, and when he commits to obeying Father by turning his heart to hate. Lucifer can feel Michael’s worry over the angles that were cast down with him. He can feel the relief when he talks to the flames, telling Michael about them from the whispers he’s heard.

Gabriel’s visit is a surprise. The keening wail is not. It’s ‘I miss you; I love you; I’m sorry’ twisted together. I’m sorry is packed with layers. _Sorry for what, _Lucifer wonders as he coos to Gabriel offering forgiveness and love. It’s lonely but Gabriel will always be his Favorite younger sibling. He will always forgive the not visiting. The panic that rises before Gabriel leaves is not either of theirs.

“You didn’t tell Michael, did you?”

“No. He’s watched to closely now. I’m running away. I just – “

“Had to see me.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel looks and feels younger than Lucifer remembers.

“What happened?”

“Naomi.” It’s a clipped sour thing that escapes, it explains absolutely nothing but makes Lucifer wonder what was done for such shortness to come from Gabriel. A swathe of blue fire joins Michael’ white and Gabriel goes. Later, he will hear the rumors of Gabriel ascending to godhood - it makes his eon. Free will indeed.

It is Michael that brings up the apocalypse. That there will be a pair born to heavens earthly lives if he sets the cupids onto specific targets. Lucifer agrees. A topside eon having passed is a bit much for a celestial timeout when time flows faster at the pit site, about a thousand times faster.

Michael puts out that the apocalypse is upon them. That the brothers Winchester are vital and must grow up. That they, the heavenly host will assist in breaking the seals. The host cheers and Michael wonders if they understand how many will be lost in this endeavor. If they understand that if he were doing this as written, it would be a fight to the death. That half the world would burn. Michael is the liar, the silver tongue Lucifer is accused of and they know it. _I would have made a better devil_; Michael thinks as he plans to sacrifice a part of the host (his stranger brothers) to release another. His only guilt is for the Terralings (Humans – must remember that) that will perish – for Lucifer loved them enough to give them a knife, trusting them not to use it.

The Eldest Winchester (John, Michael thinks he’s called) goes to hell, near the pit and bleeds. He never screams or pleads. He just starts at Alister and it is _unnerving. _The torture becomes more intense, and still he is still _still._ There’s a note unveiled on reading his file (celestial match – Archangel Raphael) that explains the stoicism.

The host to Lucifer (Sam?) is killed, and Michael’s host (Dean?) sells his soul to save him. What is one more year to the ages that have come and gone already? The host watches as the demon known as Yellow Eyes to the humans is killed in the chaos of opening The Devil's Gate. The soul of the Eldest Winchester escapes without having spilt the blood of anything in Hell. Michael rages. The first seal is _unbroken_, letting the host think the rage stems from the rest of the escapees is convenient, but not the truth. How hard is it to get a righteous man to spill a little blood?

Just shy of four human months, after the Eldest Winchester brother is dragged to hell, the first seal breaks. His elation is overwhelming (one step closer!) when he feels it break. The shrill ‘Dean Winchester has been raised from perdition!’ makes a good cover, and Castiel is promoted to watch the Winchesters.

The plans go sideways. _Again. _Lucifer is free, but neither Sam or Dean are willing to say yes. Michael revives Adam, son of John Winchester to be his host. When Sam finally says yes, _it’s a trap! _The four of them start to fall into the cage and Michael boots Adam to heaven. The flicker of vindicated pride of Lucifer’s (Sam’s) face makes getting trapped worth it.

Lucifer still loves the humans, so Sam’s soul sleeps in the embrace of grace, cradled between them as Michael’s Fire or Lucifer’s Ice is too much to handle for Sam alone. Michael revels in Lucifer’s presences. It’s startling to realize that is his younger brother is now older than him, by a very large margin now.

“Little Brother,” sounds like ‘I love you, I missed you, I’m sorry, I forgive you’ from Lucifer’s lips. _How could you ever forgive me _threatens to choke Michael, so he nods instead, trying to wrap himself around Lucifer. It doesn’t work. Not only is the Adam vessel smaller than the Sam vessel, Lucifer’s celestial form is larger than Michael’s now.

Lucifer and Michael take turns rambling about everything and nothing. They watch Sam’s dreams about Dean and everything, about everyone he called family. When Castiel comes to save Sam, they try to push his soul out with his body. To their horror, the cage won’t relinquish it. Sam’s soul has no buffer and Hell presses in on him – much to Lucifer’s chagrin. Lucifer takes on the form of Nick (who is still bigger than the Adam vessel). Sam’s soul is frayed and worn – barely human by the time Death takes him away.

“Castiel is so much like you, Lucifer. He loves so fiercely those Winchester, he doused me in holy oil to stop us. Would he forgive me, you think, for loving you, even after what Father had commanded us?”

“Yes. Can you hear the host, Michael?” Michael hasn’t been able to hear the host since he joined Lucifer, but Lucifer continues without pause, “Castiel is God now. He can’t possibly do worse if Father revived him.”

“Free will is terrifying,” but he can do worse, Michael is sure of it. Castiel loves without reservation. He loves like Lucifer. He loves like him – willing to do _anything _for them.

Freedom from the cage is unexpected. Aunt Amara being free is baffling, as are the ruins of Heaven, Earth, and Hell. Witnessing Aunt Amara and Father fighting strongly reminds him of the epic fights that spawned from John and Mary, of the acts of procreation that happened after (and he desperately doesn’t want to contemplate that.)

“What am I then?” Michael enters in to courtyards, stands next to the Dean-bomb draped in souls and waits.

“You’re Michael.”

“So I am, but that’s just a name.” The Adam vessel (he supposes he should just call it his vessel now) crinkles his nose, “Tell me Aunt Amara; Who am I?”

“You’re one of God’s brats.”

“I am God’s first son. Me. Do you remember when it was just the three of us?”

“Lucifer is older though.” God is silent, waiting.

“Bitch, that doesn’t change a thing. Sammy and I have both been to Hell and back. I spent forty fucking years there, tied and tortured there. Sammy – more than a thousand.” The glint in Dean-bomb’s eyes are sharp, daring Aunt Amara or Chuck to interject before he’s done. His voice is decidedly pinched and pained though as he continues. “I still came first. Mikey and I have one thin’ in common, ya know?”

“No,” and it’s clear she doesn’t understand. “Enlighten me.”

“We’d do everything to protect our kid. For our kid brother; we’d move Heaven and Earth, go to Hell and back for them.” Michael can’t help but agree, with the sentiment – even he would use save instead of protect.

“We’ve done exactly that, too, have we not.” Michael can feel his lips twitch as he speaks, belated amusement as the enormity of his actions hit him. Hell and back; a phrase that he hadn’t though would ever apply to him in such a literal sense.

“Damn right.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Michael just states at the Chuck visage containing his Father. Dean groans, frustrated disbelief written on his face (and when did he come to know Deans expressions so well?)

“Chuck. You really are dumb.” His eyes glitter through the frustration, and Michael isn’t sure if its mirth or something else. “Do you know why, between you and John, you hold the shittiest Father _ever_?”

There’s half a moment pause, a beat where the world shifts in anticipation as Gabriel, Castiel, Raphael (wasn’t he dead?) and more angles tune in. Sam’s ears twitch, revealing Lucifer is also paying attention. Somehow the world settles, and Dean continues.

“John handed me Sammy when I was four years old, and he told me to watch out for him – to take care of him. You handed Michael a ball of angle fluff –“

“We are not fluff, Dean.”

“Shh, Cas – and told him the exact same thing John told me. And then you did it again, and again, and again.”

“Dean, - “

“I am not done, _Chuck_,” Dean looks practically feral, “Angle possession is a two-way street. I know what you said when you cast Lucy down. Even my own father wasn’t so callous, so…. (there’s a wild hand motion here, Michael thinks it an excuse to pause) …heartless to tell me I couldn’t love my brother.”

Chuck looks positively green, but Dean isn’t done. “Ashamed yet? Perhaps it’s time for you and Amara to leave. Figure shit out.”

_Dean is not God, but perhaps he should be_, Michael thinks as Father and Aunt Amara walk away with the Dean-Soul-Bomb defused.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“For what, Mikey? Saving the world is my fucking job.”

“You didn’t have to absolve me of my sins.” Dean looks funny at him.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed to love either. I’d be damn’d twice over if that was the case.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Cas is an honorary Winchester, He’s my brother – angleness aside. And you’ve seen what I do to those that threaten us.

“So I have.”

“Good. Then don’t fuck up.” There’s a gesture from Dean that is beyond Michael. “We need a vacation, Man. Got any ideas? I’m thinking pie.”

“You’re always thinking pie, Dean.”

“So, Sammy? Pie is great. You can’t beat pie.”

“Think we’d ever be like that?” Michael directs to Lucifer, watching the Winchester go.

“So jovial? No. That’s what Gabriel is for.” The indignant squawk is ruined by a candy rain. Michael laughs. So, this is what unfettered love and joy is; It’s everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Flagitious: adjective [fluh-jish-uhs]  
shamefully wicked, as persons, actions, or times.


End file.
